


The Haunted House Affair

by LiliGrey



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Guilty Illya, Horror, M/M, Napoleon Whump, an excessive amount of hand holding, halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiliGrey/pseuds/LiliGrey
Summary: "So, basically, THRUSH's next move in world domination is causing mass chaos on Halloween night. And you are telling us that their base of operation is inside a haunted house in the middle of nowhere.""That is a poor summary, Mister Solo, but yes, that's the gist of it."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For someone who never actually reads horror (the only time I did was in school and I am still regretting it) I have no idea if this would actually qualify as horror...but oh well, it adds to the Halloween atmosphere.

"So, basically, THRUSH's next move in world domination is causing mass chaos on Halloween night. And you are telling us that their base of operation is inside a haunted house in the middle of nowhere."

 

"That is a poor summary, Mister Solo, but yes, that's the gist of it."

 

"Why am I not even surprised." Napoleon muttered under his breath and once again wondered how an organisation full of people who had such horrible senses of humour had managed to become UNCLE's arch nemesis.

 

His partner of six months, Illya Kuryakin, the Russian Red Peril, didn't even bat an eyelash.

 

Napoleon flipped through the stack of files Waverly had presented them somewhat distractedly and cast a sidelong gaze towards his partner again, who was studiously ignoring him, his focus concentrated on the mission briefing completely.

 

He felt a slight surge of guilt and quickly quashed it. He had screwed up their previous mission, sort of, by getting them captured and roughed up a bit, resulting in his partner being bed bound for days due to a badly sprained ankle and Gaby drinking an excess amount of alcohol. In his defense, he had been so distracted by his partner at the time, who was once again showing off his inhuman strength, that he completely missed the trip wire. So, ok yeah, it was his fault.

 

Napoleon sighed. It gave the mission a tense start, and Napoleon always hated tension.

 

At first, Napoleon was still able to crack some jokes about how THRUSH masterminds were all ridiculously dramatic and had the weirdest senses of humour. But the closer they get to their destination, and the further and further away from any civilization, the more subdued Napoleon felt, and he knew it wasn’t just him.

 

Both Illya and Gaby were very quiet when they finally arrived at the village that was closest to where this reported “haunted house” was situated, and Napoleon can’t blame them. In fact, the whole village looked haunted, as half the houses were deserted or boarded up, with wary and terrified eyes peaking out at them from behind wooden boards. The place gave Napoleon the chills.

 

The only place they managed to find lodgings was a very dingy inn with creaky floor boards and oily table tops. The innkeeper was a very unpleasant looking fellow, who seemed to always be muttering some sort of curses under his breath and paid little attention to them. However, he’s probably the only one not paying them much attention, as their arrival in such a small place was as noticeable as a beacon in the night sky and there was nowhere for them to blend in.

 

That night, as they sat at the bar top, a rather young barman who thought they were ghost buster started telling them stories of how this place became haunted about a year or so ago, where it all started with the house of Mad Old Garlicfoot, as they’ve come to call the strange recluse living a few miles away from the village, because he was always wearing a rabbit foot around his neck and reeked strongly of garlic. He described in excruciating detail how the whole village was woken in the night by a blood curdling scream that travelled across the forest, and found Old Garlicfoot’s house splattered with blood, but Garlicfoot himself was never found, alive or dead.

 

“Then, they started to go mad.” The barman whispered conspiratorially.

 

It was a gruesome tale he spun, of how one by one, the villagers, mainly strong men in the prime of their lives, just went mad for seemingly no reason. One moment, they would be singing and drinking in the pubs, and the next, they would turn on their best friends and start bashing their skulls in.

 

By the time he reached the third or so tale that involved a man biting off his wife’s arm, Gaby had excused herself to her room, her face becoming very pale.

 

Illya and Napoleon exchanged a glance. After a few more questions which they only got very vague answers to, they tipped the young barman handsomely for his information and went to prepare for their explorations the next day.

 

They assessed the information critically, knowing some must be exaggerations and rumours borne of the overly imaginative. None of them believed in the supernatural, but isn't THRUSH overdoing things a bit?

 

The next morning, things did not bode well as a heavy fog had settled over the place, making it next to impossible to see further than a few meters. Both Illya and Napoleon decided that it was best for Gaby to stay behind and run transmissions. She had put up a feeble argument but quickly conceded. The stories from the night before had apparently affected her the most.

 

It was slow going into the woods, as the path was mostly destroyed or rendered unusable over the year, and the mist greatly limited their sight. By the time they reached the outskirts of the grounds that housed their “haunted house”, it was approaching noon and the overcast sky told them that it would get dark much sooner than they would prefer.

 

Both men were grim as they parked their jeep and hoisted their kit, going the last hundred meters or so on foot. The trees in the woods around them were all withered and blackened, twisted in torturous angles as if in agony.

 

Napoleon tried not to think too much about it as he squinted at the wretched house that gradually loomed up before them out of the mist. It was obvious that the place had been neglected for months.

 

Not without some effort, Illya wretched the front door open and they were immediately greeted with the stench of stale air. Just as they were about to enter the house, a cackle of static came across both their earpieces, making them wince.

 

“Transmission died.” Illya commented as he surveyed his earpiece, then he looked up at Napoleon, who nodded grimly back at him. It was too late to turn back now. The transmission signal had become worse the further they came, and it seems that it had finally given up on them.

 

Neither men were the type to believe in coincidences.

 

Sound was oddly muffled and somewhat contorted inside the wooden structure, leaving strange and grating creaks as they moved through the house.

 

Illya made a gesture that he will be taking the left side of the house and motioned for Napoleon to explore the right. Napoleon nodded a bit reluctantly, not keen on splitting up but knowing it is more efficient, as they need to sweep the whole house and its grounds for hidden passageways that might lead to underground THRUSH facilities. They agreed to meet out front in half an hour.

 

Napoleon worked through his side of the house methodically, checking for false floors and walls, having to sweep away dust and cobwebs, shining his torch across disused furniture.

 

He eventually reached the rear exit of the house and let himself out, making his way carefully round to the front, making sure he was always within seeing distance of the house as he made his slight detours. He was a few minutes early as he arrived at the front of the house once more, but he decided not to venture anywhere further on his own and waited for his partner to join him. He was not a cowardly man, but this place was really giving him the creeps. Also, it would be quite pointless trying to comb through the grounds in the thick fog. They would just have to come back the next day, even if it meant they would have lost one precious day of time where THRUSH was probably already informed about their arrival, and there was no guarantee that tomorrow would be better.

 

He waited.

 

He checked his watch impatiently for the fifth time, noting that Peril was running three minutes behind schedule. Frowning, he waited a bit more.

 

Three turned into five, and five turned into ten.

 

It was not like Peril to be running late. In fact, he was never late at their rendezvous unless there were extenuating circumstances.

 

Napoleon felt his heart sink.

 

Chest heavy, he headed back into the house to try and locate his missing partner. At first, he tried simply calling his name, but his voice sounded strangely muffled and contorted in the stifling rooms, giving strange echoes that reverberated through the walls. He gave up on that idea very quickly.

 

He traced Illya’s steps to the left side of the house, taking in any disturbed dust to mark where his partner had been. After a careful examination, he didn’t find any suspicious dead ends to his footsteps, just that there was only one set leading to the left of the house but none coming back.

 

There were no signs of struggle.

 

He did not believe someone could get to his inhuman partner without him putting up a fight. It seemed like Illya simply disappeared into thin air.

 

As he stepped out of the door almost another hour later, the feeble afternoon light is fading and the mist seemed to grow thicker. It all grated on Napoleon's nerves.

 

Thinking through all the resources he had, Napoleon decided the best course of action is to retrace his steps and try to contact Gaby from the transmitter in the jeep and locate Illya from there.

 

He cannot find their jeep.

 

Napoleon can feel the hair on the back of his neck rise.

 

He was sure they parked it in that direction but there was no sign of it, and worst of all, no sign of it ever arriving there and no sign of it leaving. The leafy undergrowth and dirt tracks should have easily left track marks, but there was not a trace to be found. As if they had never come here.

 

Napoleon felt cold sweat gather in his palm. _Come on, Napoleon. Think!_

 

His head snapped up as he saw movement from the corner of his eyes, but when he turned to look, there was nothing but shadows.

 

//////////

 

Napoleon wasn't sure how long he was running, just that his lungs were heaving for air. He had no idea what was happening, but his partner had turned into a monster. And the monster was out for blood.

 

Napoleon had been on the alert for further movement and debating his options when it, _yes it_ , attacked.

 

It was a punch from the back that would have knocked his head off his shoulders had he not felt the air movement not a second too soon. He ducked, but the side of his face was caught by nails as his assailant dragged his fist back, hand now in a grabbing motion like a claw. His face stun and he knew it must have drawn blood.

 

Reacting completely on instinct, Napoleon fought dirty. He jabbed his opponent hard in the crotch using his elbow and heard a pained grunt from behind him. He quickly tore away and turned to face his attacker, who was now half crouched on the ground.

 

It was his partner.

 

What he saw was barely human.

 

Without looking back, he ran as fast as his legs would take him, with no clear destination in mind. He just needed to get out of here.

 

Behind him, he could feel the beast going into the hunt.

 

Napoleon panted for breath as he grabbed onto the dying branches of the tree next to him, his legs weak and unable to take him a step further. He swept his eyes around wildly but cannot see anything apart from mist and the twisted blurs of dying trees. But he knew he was being watched.

 

Once again, it came out of nowhere.

 

One moment, he was catching his breath, the next, he was strewn across the clearing and landed hard on his side in the undergrowth, his breath leaving him in a rush. Before he could even manage to get his legs under him, a heavy weight settled upon him, pinning him to the ground. He struggled to get out of its hold, feebly trying to fight his way out. Pain exploded across his side as relentless fists drove into his tender ribcage. He tried to block out the assail with his arm but a resounding crack travelled through his body, followed by pain that threatened to overwhelm him and made him see stars. A pained whimper escaped him and he knew his arm was broken.

 

A heavy fist closed around his throat. With his good arm, he tried to pry the iron grip open but it was to no avail. Napoleon looked up and a pair of red demonic eyes stared back down at him, on a face so contorted that it was worse than his worst nightmares.

 

This is not his partner.

 

It was his last thought as he descended into darkness.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Illya stared at his hands as they shook, not the usual tremors that ran through his fingers when he becomes agitated, but a full out shaking that seemed to travel through his core.

 

“Illya…” Gaby began hesitatingly from across the room, standing next to the white clad hospital bed. She didn’t try to ask if he was fine. “You should get some rest.”

 

He shook his head and tucked his shaking fingers close to his torso, hugging himself close and resolutely not looking towards the direction of the hospital bed.

 

He scrunched his eyes shut to block out the images, but they come anyway, relentlessly. The worst part, was that he remembered it all clearly.

 

_Kill, kill, KILL!_

 

Bloodlust had sung through his veins.

 

He had chased his prey through the forest, watching with a predatory calm as his prey staggered through the uneven undergrowth, hearing each breath coming in pained and laboured, seeing those steps falter and become sluggish.

 

When his prey was finally exhausted of its strength, he closed in for the kill.

 

It would be an easy kill, as his prey was no match for his strength and its fight was feeble. Bones gave way under his fists and he had bared his teeth, feeding on the reek of terror as he felt the life drain from his prey beneath his iron grip.

 

A pained whine escaped through his lips as he clutched his head in a painful grasp.

 

If Gaby hadn’t found them just in time…

 

He felt sick to his stomach.

 

“Illya!” Gentle fingers pried his hands apart and held on insistently to his wrist, rubbing soothing circles around the only thing that ever grounded him, his father’s watch.

 

He looked up at his Chop Shop Girl, and his words were choked out, “I am monster.”

 

He always knew he was a killer, a murderer, a knife in the dark and a silent reaper of life. It was what he had been trained to do, molded through years of service to his country, to kill and die for his country. But now, what he feared most has finally happened.

 

He had finally become a monster.

 

“Illya…” Gaby looked stricken at those words, but then a fierce expression came across her face. “No. You are not.”

 

The strength in her words shook Illya out of his depressing stupor and he stared at her in shock.

 

“THRUSH is the monster, and you cannot allow it to tear you apart. Tear us apart.” Gaby said fervently. “Come on, you need to be strong, for Napoleon’s sake. We still have a mission to finish.”

 

"Mission was complete loss. Cowboy is hurt and we have no information." He spat out bitterly.

 

"I wouldn't quite put it that way.” A hoarse and slightly slurred voice came over from the other side of the room.

 

Both Illya and Gaby looked up in surprise.

 

“Cowboy!” Illya pushed out of his chair and quickly went over in three urgent strides. He knelt by the bed and, almost subconsciously, reached out for Napoleon’s good hand that was lying on top of the covers. Realising what he was doing, he halted his hand millimeters away, his whole body froze in place as his thoughts caught up with him.

 

Napoleon flipped over his palm and twined their fingers.

 

“Cowboy, I…” Words stuck in his throat and he looked up a little desperately.

 

“Hey, it’s alright, Peril. I knew it wasn’t you.” Napoleon said softly.

 

“Is not alright.” Illya shook his head, his voice thick.

 

Napoleon sighed and whispered. “C’mere.”

 

Illya let Napoleon drag their clasped hand up towards his lips, where he pressed a gentle kiss to Illya’s fingertips. Illya felt his hands begin to tremble for another reason altogether. Their gazes locked and held for long moments.

 

A soft cough came from the foot of the bed. “Napoleon, you were saying?”

 

“Oh, you bugged that jeep, didn't you, Peril?"

 

There was a pause, then both Illya and Gaby sprang into action.

 

Napoleon smiled into his pillow.

 

 

//////////

 

 

Illya wiped a slightly tired hand across his face as he watched UNCLE agents clear out the half demolished warehouse that had been THRUSH’s secret laboratories.

 

It took him and Gaby three days to finally track down the exact location and they had called in backup to make sure no THRUSH operatives escaped. They found out that THRUSH had been developing a very strong hallucinogen that induced extreme aggression and had been testing it on the unsuspecting villagers for over a year. They had, in fact, just moved base a few weeks ago in preparation for their attack on Halloween night.

 

It had been a close call, but the world was saved from murderous party-goers and trick-or-treaters, and the mass panic that would have followed.

 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Gaby coming towards him, tapping on her phone then slipping it into her coat pocket.

 

She stood next to him to watch the clean up process.

 

“Think about it, Illya.” She said, carrying on a conversation they had left off just before their ambush. “You really should talk to him.”

 

Illya averted his gaze. He knew he owed Napoleon an apology, much more than an apology, but he wasn’t ready to face him yet, not after what he had done.

 

They stayed like that for another few moments of silence as the clean-up crew wrapped up the scene.

 

“Well, Waverly just told me he’s giving us the week off.” Gaby said lightly, but she was looking at him with an intent expression on her face.

 

Illya just nodded, lost in thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Illya raised his hand to knock but found it was trembling slightly. He curled it into a fist, and resolutely, knowing he needs to do this, he rapped his knuckles against the ornate wooden door in front of him.

 

A muffled “Coming!” came from somewhere within and a few moments later, the door was opened awkwardly as Napoleon juggled with his cast.

 

“I wasn’t expecting…Oh.” Napoleon certainly didn’t seem to be expecting him.

 

Heart constricting, Illya backed a step. Perhaps this was a mistake after all. “Solo, I…”

 

“Come on in, Peril.” Napoleon cut off whatever excuse he was about to ramble and opened the door wider.

 

Helplessly, he followed Napoleon inside.

 

He sat down gingerly on the far side of the couch, keeping a safe distance between them.

 

“Peril?” Napoleon seemed to sense his unease. “Are you alright?” He asked, an anxious frown furrowing his brow.

 

Illya wanted to laugh.

 

Napoleon was the one who was hunted through that damned forest by a monster, who was attacked relentlessly with murderous intent, who was betrayed by his partner whose duty was to protect him and watch his back, and Napoleon was asking him if _he_ was alright?

 

“I am so sorry, Napoleon.” Illya felt the words choke out of him.

 

His hands started to tremble again as he desperately wanted to touch, to sooth away those lines of pain and fatigue on his Cowboy’s face, but he couldn’t.

 

He was terrified of what those hands can do, of what the _monster_ can do.

 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Peril.” Napoleon reached out and grasped his hand again, just like back in the hospital.

 

“How can you bare touching me, Cowboy?” His voice was barely a whisper as he stared at their twined fingers in his lap, his voice hoarse and disbelieving. “You should be running far away.”

 

Napoleon let out a slightly weary laugh. “I should have done that a long time ago, Peril. Back in Berlin. In Rome.”

 

He gripped Illya’s hand tighter. “I may have been forced into this job by the CIA, but never have I allowed my very short leash to take away the fulfillment I had from my job. The same applies here. THRUSH has done horrible things, to both of us, but I will not allow them to take away this.”

 

He raised their joined hands and gently laid it above his heart.

 

“Napoleon.” Illya’s throat constricted. Trembling, he raised his free hand and gently cupped Napoleon’s cheek. He ran his thumb ever so lightly over the healing scratch on Napoleon’s cheekbone, then slid it across his jaw and lower.

 

“May I?” He whispered and Napoleon nodded.

 

He ran his hand over the yellowing bruises that span his Cowboy’s neck. He mapped out the bruise from each individual finger, feeling the phantom struggle of fingers scrabbling to pry away his own. He caressed the crescent scars where his nails bit into skin, his touch soft with apology, and grazed his fingers over the thrumming pulse point, strong and steady, each beat a reassurance of life.

 

He finally rested his hand on the nape of Napoleon’s neck, his fingers gently stroking through the soft strands, and his eyes rose up to meet the calm gaze of the other man. He felt his heart swell with the amount of trust Napoleon put into him.

 

No one had ever trusted him like this. Least of all himself.

 

He did not know who moved first but their lips met halfway. It was a gentle kiss, full of apology and untold feelings, softened by the fear of hurting and being hurt.

 

Illya rested his forehead against Napoleon’s, their breath mingling in the air between them and both of their breathing were a little uneven.

 

Mindful of the cast and Napoleon’s bruised ribs, he gently raised their joint hands between them and pressed a soft kiss to Napoleon’s finger tips, his gaze holding the other man’s.

 

He does not plan on ever letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> For people who read it before the current update and was wondering where the original first chapter went, it's now in "Superman VS Lone Ranger", where they celebrate a much fluffier Halloween. 
> 
> I wrote this monster when I was very sleep deprived and the end result was that I mashed two completely irrelevant plots into the same fic...


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